


Lividity

by saidno1ever



Series: You're Sick, I Hate You and Love You For It [12]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Humantale, Body Horror, Mental Instability, Other, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-03-16
Packaged: 2018-10-06 08:04:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10329974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saidno1ever/pseuds/saidno1ever
Summary: What doesn't kill me, makes me wish I was dead





	

The absent whiteness doesn't stop falling around you. It sticks to your frame and the floor, blurring edges until you can't tell where your own body begins. The growing amalgamation feels heavy, packing onto itself and setting a searing pain into your skin. You savor it, pressing the flesh in further. 

It feels like melting until your legs stop feeling. Then your arms. Your hands are still fairing almost as if they aren't made of flesh at all. You wonder what they look like beneath the white. Have they dissolved to brittle, chipping bones or have they swollen thick with enlarged blood vessels? 

A chunk of the atmosphere pegs you square in the back. It clings to you long after the pain passes, attempting to exchange body heat. You have none to give it. The whiteness has claimed the last part of you. 

The wind whips against your ears, teasing out soft but hollow words. 

You let the wind blow harder until it tears your hands from the whiteness, filling them instead with relentless heat. You fingers have ballooned to twice their usual size, swallowing your nails and straining for more space against each other then there is available on your palms. You wait for just one to pop. You wait for the weak flesh to finally unsheathe your body. 

There's blood leaking from your face. You can taste it. When you open your mouth, it drips in, dotting your tongue with tangs of copper. You smear it across your lips when you bring a hand to your face. It continues to drip, leaving your brain light, dry and shriveled on its stem. 

The wind begins to cut at your legs. You drop your hands and turn to face it. When you smile, the wind roars, forcing you up on your feet. You legs break and collapse inward at the wrong angles, but the wind ignores it, forcing you up and over the endlessness of white. 

Consciousness floods back into you when more warmth does. You lick the blood from your fingers, lapping up the mixture of copper and bitter nothingness. Papyrus closes the window.


End file.
